


Here All Along

by MrSchimpf



Category: Desperate Housewives
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, Femslash, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, LOL this is a drabble uh-huh but really it was when it started, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-13
Updated: 2009-08-13
Packaged: 2018-05-11 17:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5635726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrSchimpf/pseuds/MrSchimpf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bree takes in Lynette in her worst moment, and their friendship grows deeper as they share a home and combine their newly single lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here All Along

**Title: Here All Along  
**  
Author: Nate  
 **Pairing:** Bree/Lynette, _Desperate Housewives_  
 **Rating:** PG-13 (profanity and incredible sexual teasing between two women which would crumple weaker beings)  
 **Disclaimer:** _Desperate Housewives_ is owned by Mark Cherry/Cherry Productions and ABC Studios; no attempt to profit is being made.  
 **Archiving:** AO3 and ff.net. Anywhere else, ask first.  
 **Summary:** Bree takes in Lynette in her worst moment, and their friendship grows deeper as they share a home and combine their newly single lives.  
 **Author's** **Notes:** This was originally written as part of a LiveJournal drabble challenge in August 2009 with five prompts from Danielle/UbiquitiousMixie (OK, despite the length this definitely isn't a drabble but D knew what she was getting into :-P!) This is the final prompt of five, based around the phrase "After all these years".  


* * *

 __I remember how many times I was told in the end of my marriages that I would never find anybody ever again. "You'll never find anyone better than me," they would say in so many words, hoping to wound me and then use the word of God to make me believe that by severing my bonds to them I was headed to Hell.

My God doesn't see that however. He sees the pain I've went through in my life and that in the end, the way I lived my life in the end will mean much more than how I kept my vows. I was bound only to them. I never breached my vows and that gives me the clarity I need.

It seems wrong that I'm saying this as I lay in a room in a bed and breakfast in a town in northern Vermont that you have to squint to see on a map. I've never been this impulsive. There was no way in the years I've had this feeling that I thought it would ever come true. Rex had scared the thought out of me, a little joke receiving a slap to the face in response to it.

I was tired of it, seeing her pushed aside, and while not physically abused as far as I know, scarred by how she's had to live for so long and how her authority was subverted by her husband.

Or shall I say, ex-husband? After he didn't allow her to assert herself, she had enough. She left him. Just one day, gathered her things, knocked on my door, and asked if she could move in.

How could I ever deny her? I thought it would only be for a week, so I found it an acceptable proposition.

Soon that week turned into a month. 30 days because a whole yearly quarter, and then six months. Nine months and twenty-four days later, she came home, exhausted and relieved.

Her divorce went uncontested. A petition she filed in secret, afraid for my reaction and scorn.

Which I easily spared her, since I had none. Her children had fallen out of her control, and her former husband treated her as if she was a pariah for fighting for her life in every conceivable manner. The only thing the divorce did was seal the fact she was now my equal roommate...

No, not the right term. My partner in the household. Time went on and she found a position that allowed her to finally work how she had dreamed she wanted to do for years. Incredibly creative, she quickly rose, while her ex left the neighborhood, unable to keep the mortgage up. We just sipped iced tea on the porch when he moved for the browner pastures of a bachelor apartment complex where loud metal rock would forever torture him as we both realized our own intelligent investments meant we lived in a home where only property taxes had to be paid.

One year, four months and eleven days after she came to my door, we had put enough space between the divorce and our feelings. She acted on them first, pinning me against the counter, giddy over receiving an important account. Glowing, she told me it was so worth it and that she could finally afford to live for herself.

She kissed me at that moment. The aftermath was a little bit awkward, as my beliefs told me to tell her to back off. But my heart, which had lifted from the sight of her the moment she moved in, told me it was right. Nothing happened that night. We celebrated, went to bed and the next morning, we were both normal.

Twenty-seven days later I confronted her about a client who I had to entertain for her sake. He seemed to be flirting with her in my eyes. She laughed it off and told me I must be seeing things. But I wasn't. He was trying to touch her all night. She wondered why I didn't want her to get back out there, and I explained that he just wasn't right.

For four months, the extent of our relationship remained that, friends living together and tolerating the things we didn't like. While I concentrated on my own ventures, I also made it clear that I wasn't looking for a new lover in any sense. She made me happy and that was all I needed.

But why did I just have to be happy? After finally having this independence for the first time in my entire life, why would I just be content to be that when I knew I could be indescribable? I'd fall asleep at night and I would sleep on one side of the bed, hoping and waiting for her to come in. She wouldn't. After awhile it had become obvious that she was either feeling wounded because I seemingly turned her down, or I had not acted at all.

I was new to being on the other side of romance. The pursuer. She had laid the trail and now I had to follow her. So I started subtlety. Backrubs and massages after a long day at the office. Holding her hand as she went for her appointments, praying that her lymphoma remained in remission. I even did things I would have never considered, like flirted with her during the block poker games with my words and my actions. She returned them occasionally, as the dizziness I felt when her ankle brushed mine beneath the table could attest. We both blushed, but didn't acknowledge it as we left the house it was held in. The both of us were reserved and stern. We couldn't give in yet.

I couldn't give in. After hearing the pastor giving a vindictive service from the altar one Sunday morning about how marriage is always between a man and a woman, up to the point of actually sympathizing with the police in the Stonewall situation, I registered an immediate complaint with the church anonymously that he be severely reprimanded.

The next weekend he urged the congregation to support a bill in the state legislature blocking any effort by a partner to take any kind of power of attorney, saying it was only a duty to be allowed by a spouse or parents. "They are not willing to give their full lives to the Lord," he intoned. "They are wrong, and they certainly do not deserve the efforts of the state to meddle in the affairs of their so-called 'lovers.'"

This time my protestation was more subtle, and more damaging to him. I simply dropped an envelope empty of money into the collection plate, walked out with my head held high, and in that note, told the pastor he no longer had my support and that my relationship between me and God never included denying anybody the simple mercy of being able to tell the person they loved most whether they were ready to pass on to the afterlife. Yes, my new church is far from my home. It's actually in the city and the parking is horrible. But that pastor there welcomes all and does not use his pulpit to bully. My empty space in the pews of my former church speaks more volumes about how I feel than anything else.

My soul was free. I had no guilt. After three weeks of adding more clues to the pile, I finally confronted her on how she felt for me with a simple dinner of shrimp tetrazzini, grape juice, and homemade croissants. Across the table we sat and ate, both of us worn from our respective days. I looked back to the first day we met, how we were both hopeful that our lives would end up wonderful and fulfilling.

All these years later, they hadn't. I had gone through two husbands, hers was acting like a nasty teenager with her wonderful twins who had been corrupted by his lax parenting (and his chilling of her strict style) to becoming uncontrollable hellions, while my own relationships with my children are, to put it best, tense. We had gone through all of this, and the only constant in my life had been her. Ever unfailing, never wavering. She was most afraid of how I'd react to her diagnosis and when she admitted it, my heart almost shattered.

If she would have died, I may have joined her soon after. But she was alive, still here, just for me. Living in my home, which had become our home informally, if not officially.

I admitted my feelings for her at that table. How I felt. I poured my heart out to her, hopeful that she recognized by my actions and disdain at her clients and co-workers, that I was hoping she would not leave, finding me a burden. I even cried within those words, telling her how she was the sole factor keeping me from wallowing in my sadness and keeping me sober. I knew there was a chance that I was too late. That she had closed herself off fully.

But then she came around the table and admitted her own feelings for me ran years back. That she had a picture of me on her desk at work instead of the twins. How those scamps told her she was 'a frigid bitch' and that not being with her husband she deserved to wither and die. That her children would be so cruel to her is unconscionable. Even mine still hold love for me.

We went from that night and began a slow burn of a relationship. Still sleeping in separate rooms. I was determined despite the unconventionality of my love that I would still court her in the normal matter, She would have to be content with enjoying the pleasures of my flesh through clothing and suggestiveness, and it drove both of us up a wall. "It'll be worth it when we decide to," I would intone when she got all frustrated and huffy after a hard day. Rubbing herself between her legs would have to do when I gave her the traditional end of the day back and foot massages that soon became as much of a routine as the morning newspaper.

Time went on. We went as further as we possibly could, and within the tenth month of our relationship the both of us were on tense tethers. But I would not breach my promise. Not even when a further promotion at work inspired her to head to some incredibly expensive lingerie shop in the middle of downtown and she would walk into my room every morning innocently asking how I found her underdress and forced me to stay behind five minutes before I left home after she did to expend my stress.

When I finally broke down and told the other girls, somehow they weren't surprised. Words such as 'it's about time' and 'it was inevitable' were thrown around. My children were almost the same way, with Andrew describing my love as 'your Siamese twin,' an incredibly disgusting picture, but thus, it was true. Outside of our work, we went everywhere together.

It was twelve months and seven days when I finally reached into the deepest portion of my jewelry box. When I opened up the portion that contained what my mother passed onto me. Both rings sat in the velvet box, awaiting, expecting. I had never worn them in my life. They would have been for Danielle, but she refused, saying they were not meant for her, but for me. They stayed in the top drawer of the box for two weeks.

Then I cracked. I could no longer take that my hormones and my heart were forcing me to face up to the predictable conclusion I had avoided since the day she came to my door in need of a shelter and a bed away from her husband.

She fell asleep in her bedroom. I penned her a note that she was to pack in two hours from the moment she got up, that I had the foresight to demand two vacation days from her employer. In the interim I had called my attorney to draft as airtight a power of attorney order as I could get this state to allow to await her signature.

The next morning she awoke, bleary and surprised. She asked where we were going.

"I'm not telling," I told her simply. "All you need to know is that you must wear white." Mysterious as ever, I finished packing the car, printing up maps and confirming things. An hour later we were in the car on the way north as I explained that yes, her position at the company was safe and everything would be well in her absence.

I did no interstate driving at all. Two lane rural roads all the way through the eight hour journey, all that was between us was four feet within the cabin of the car and the soft satellite-fed music fed in through the speakers. I purposefully strode along the state line during the drive north of Albany, not ready to admit the reasoning yet.

When we were within a mile of the Quebec border, I made the right turn. Crossing over Lake Champlain, as soon as we passed the sign welcoming us into the state of Vermont, I felt the pulse point of her wrist pitter-patter hard. She asked what we were doing here.

"Escaping for a weekend," I said simply. It would have to suffice as we crossed the lake and drove on Route 7 into St. Albans towards a quiet bed and breakfast resting in a small bay upon the lake. I remained enigmatic as we checked into the bed and breakfast, and when she opened the room, she was shocked to discover that there was only one bed.

But for that evening she would take that bed. "It was just a mistake," I claimed as I took a cot for the most uncomfortable and nervous sleep of my life. Just being able to look at her sleeping soundly, it made me sure I was making the right choice.

In the morning, I called to make sure all was in place. After spending most of the morning and early afternoon exploring with her, I then checked the pocket for the most important thing.

It was there.

Bending down on a rock in front of the lake, she stood agape as I poured my heart out and admitted what we were doing here, and why I could no longer see my life without her. With tears filling my eyes, I took her hand and asked her the most important question of each of our lives. I said her full name with everything I could, told her that I wanted to see her face everyday, and that I wanted her little girl to come back and live with us, the poor woman obviously missing her since sending her to one of her aunts for the sake of the child and to protect her from everything that happened. She knew about us and when we saw her, always asked when we'd get to this moment.

Before I'd say that it would be never, that the Lord wouldn't allow it. But that was before I fell in love with her.

I nervously sweated, my body heating in the bright summer sunshine. Finally after a minute of shock and recovering...

"I suppose we didn't come out here just to take the Ben & Jerry's tour?"

And there was the sarcasm that had told me that this was right. Soon, she said yes. Soon, we were back in the room at the B&B changing into the clothes which we would be bethrothed in. Not the white wedding dress by any means on me. More the reverse of a little black dress, just in white.

Not that it mattered. This dress I would treasure. My other dresses were long donated to a service that took...ahem, 'unwanted' gowns to donate to those I'm sure will have better memories with them. She went with a simple button down shirt paired with a grey pencil skirt.

Soon we were off to the St. Albans city hall, where we filled out the paperwork, did all of the things we had to, and three hours later, the town clerk gave us the vows. Though an oak-filled council room would never be a substitute for either of the churches where we said our vows for our husbands, it defined how we both were. Conservative, quiet, firm and always bound to each other. When the clerk had finally told us to "seal this wedding with a kiss," I was only too happy to, and she wouldn't dare stop me. I kissed her like I never had before, feeling my mother's wedding ring within her hand and finding it to be the most delectable thing I had ever touch.

She was my wife. I was her wife. It was perfect. No one will find out until we come back to Fairview. I don't plan to call.

With that, I suppose I should tell you that holding out for her was well worth the wait. About the only thing she was mad about is that I hadn't put some time between the proposal and the actual marriage, but that was more for the opportunity to dump her former surname as quickly as possible than anything else. I was surprised when she told me that she would take my surname. I thought she would hyphenate it.

But after spending the most wonderful night of my life with her, incredibly tired and fatigued and sore and bruised (hey, I admit I could've done this a bit sooner! I deserved to be a bit tortured by her!) I woke up just a few minutes ago, to pull back that beautiful blonde hair of hers and lay a kiss upon her beautiful cheek. Stirring, her eyes opened slowly as she woke up to me, giggling.

"You know, you were right," I say to her. "It was worth it to wait for you." Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she groaned as she faced me, morning breath and all, only the slimmest of sheets covering her lovely tall and lanky form.

"And here I thought you didn't want a mother of four," she tells me, a smile beginning to inch on her lips. "Just wait until Gaby realizes you've been hiding a rock bigger than hers."

"After all these years, we're finally bound together, forever." My words are soft, my caresses soft and languid. "Scary thought?"

"What, that I'm bound to a neat freak and can barely keep my own room together?" She giggles as I pinched the skin beneath her underarm. "Geeze! See what I mean."

"You have to be kidding. Your bedroom will now be our bedroom. You will be moving in with me and we'll be sleeping together every night now, while your bedroom now becomes your daughter's. That is what spouses do."

"Who says we'll be doing much sleeping?" She wags her eyebrows suggestively and I just shudder at the idea that I have just assured that my fifties will become my most sexually adventurous and alluring decade.

"Lynette Francis Van de Kamp! Behave yourself. I may now be your wife but I expect you to be in control--"

Oh dear. It seems that my best friend and now good wife is ready to go this morning right off the bat. Her fingers are...down there, and they really feel...goooood. I'm fogging out as she begins to top over me, pushing me hard against the mattress as she conspires further ways to inspire that naughty version of me with the devil horns and the slinky leg-baring dress on.

"Oh, I'll be in control, Bree. You asked for it, and I think that we'll only be taking advantage of the bed portion of this establishment this weekend."

"I did not ask--"

With that, my mouth is covered up by her delectable lips, taken up by her delicious tongue, and my synapses are fried...

Oh, fuck it. Lynette has me, indeed within her control, and I damned well love it. Especially the way her fingers just curl around and hit--

I cannot talk anymore. My wife needs loving. Lots and lots of exhausting loving...  


* * *

**_ THE END. _ **   



End file.
